


Six Points

by ThirtySixSaveFiles



Category: Borderlands, Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Political Campaigns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-29 20:58:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8505160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirtySixSaveFiles/pseuds/ThirtySixSaveFiles
Summary: This kind of deficit in the polls isn't unrecoverable, but Jack's not going to be able to do it by himself.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Political Campaign AU born of my desire to escape the real election. I've left the offices and geography vague, but the mechanics are American since that's what I'm familiar with.

Jack walks into headquarters two days after firing his campaign manager to find someone sitting at his desk, face hidden behind a thick open file folder and a pair of godawful boots propped up on the desk. Everyone else in the office is carefully avoiding eye contact like a bunch of goddamn cowards; if Jack wants his chair back it looks like he’s going to have to deal with the interloper himself.

Figures. If you want something done right, etc…

“Who the fuck do you - nope, you know what, it doesn’t matter.” Jack pulls the folder down to reveal blue and brown eyes regarding him with cool interest from an admittedly pretty face. Funny - usually people are scrambling to obey by now. “Get the hell up out of my chair, buddy, and tell me what you think you’re doing in my office.”

The pretty face raises an eyebrow at him. “If this is how you treat your staff, it’s a wonder your last manager lasted as long as he did. I’m Rhys - I’m his replacement,” he adds, and Jack scowls.

“I didn’t ask for this.”

“I know, and that’s part of the problem. Sit.” Jack is mildly surprised to find himself obeying, dropping down into one of the folding chairs before the desk, but he he’s used that tone himself - the one that doesn’t even raise the possibility of disagreement - and he grudgingly marks up a point for this _Rhys_ kid.

“I have questions,” Rhys says, looking back down at the file in his hands. “How long until election day?”

“197 days.” Jack knows the countdown by heart. “Why -”

“Good. And who’s your biggest campaign donor?” Rhys asks, still skimming the papers in front of him.

“I think it’s Torgue, but what does that have to do with -”

“Wrong,” Rhys cuts him off, _still_ not looking up. “The right answer is ‘My campaign keeps track of all donations, and we value every one. Last month alone individual donations of under $50 made up two thirds of the money we raised.’ Where did you get that scar?”

Jack’s ready for this one. “Hunting accident, years ago. You can ask my brother about it, he tells the story better than I do.”

“Better.” Rhys snaps the folder shut and sits up, looking Jack in the eye. “How did you really get it?”

When Jack just looks stonily at him Rhys sighs and puts his hands - one metal, and isn’t that interesting - flat on the table. “Look, I’m not asking out of prurient interest. I need to know these things so I can be prepared for them if they come up. I’m not here to judge - I’m here to win. Okay?”

“I haven’t said you can stay,” Jack snaps, although he feels like he’s fighting a losing battle here.

Rhys raises his eyebrows. “I’m sorry, did I give you the impression that was up to you? The party needs you in this seat, and you need me to win. You’re down down six points in the polls. That’s not irreversible,” he says as Jack opens his mouth, “but you’re clearly not handling it by yourself.”

Jack shuts his mouth and scowls. He hates to admit it, but Rhys is right; Jack’s got the charisma to pull this seat, but a campaign of this size needs someone to oversee it, and just because his last manager was grossly incompetent doesn’t mean Jack doesn’t see the need for one. Harold Tassiter, CEO of Hyperion Corp., is a formidable opponent - Jack should know, he used to work for the guy.

“Think of it this way,” Rhys says, folding his hands underneath his chin and blinking prettily. “You now have someone to blame the tough decisions on who _won’t_ cry in front of a Times reporter.”

Jack laughs despite himself. “You heard about that, huh?”

“Everyone heard about that one. Rookie mistake - but Delmont was out of his league from the very beginning. I promise,” and here Rhys smiles like a shark, “I’m made of sterner stuff.”

Jack huffs. “All right. You can stay. _Provisionally_ ,” he adds. “Now get the fuck out of my chair.”

Rhys smiles and pushes himself up. “Enjoy it while you can,” he says as Jack settles in. “You’ve got a meeting with the mayor at 10, then a fundraising lunch at noon, and then…”

Jack leans back and lets Rhys rattle off the day’s schedule. He’ll give this a try to keep the party chair off his back, but he has no problem kicking Rhys to the curb if the kid doesn’t measure up.

* * *

The problem is that Rhys is _really_ good at his job.

And that’s not a problem, exactly, but - well, Jack had gotten used to being able to railroad staffers into doing his bidding, either through force of personality or force of shouting, whatever worked. The problem is that Rhys doesn’t let him get away with that - the kid seems unnervingly impervious to Jack’s fits of temper, just lets Jack vent and then carries on with what he was doing as if there was no interruption. Rhys even makes Jack sit through an excruciating Q&A session, just the two of them, going over Jack’s past with a fine-toothed comb so Rhys can “be prepared,” as if Jack hasn’t been thoroughly vetted by the party already.

And sure: maybe Jack has a _reputation_ , has a _past_ \- but that’s part of his charm, right?

It’s annoying. It’s _competent_ , and Jack has always had a thing for competency, especially when it’s accompanied by thick auburn hair and legs that won’t quit. Rhys is pretty to look at, but more important he is whipping Jack’s staff into shape and Jack isn’t even mad that they’re more afraid of Rhys than they are of him, now.

So no one warns hims when Jack gets back to the office after a truly mediocre Association of Small Businesses luncheon and finds Rhys deep in conversation with a woman Jack’s never seen, one who sizes him up with the same unimpressed look that Rhys gives him daily. It’s like Rhys’ attitude is contagious - Jack is _very impressive_ , thank you, and it’s time people started remembering that.

Jack strides right up to them because Rhys has commandeered his desk _again_ , and also the woman is leaning in, her head close to Rhys’, and something she says makes Rhys laugh with the ease of long familiarity, and that’s just - that’s just -

That’s _fine_. But Jack needs his desk back.

“Sorry to interrupt.” Jack flashes his best stump speech smile and extends a hand right in the woman’s face. “Jack Lawrence. Nice to meet you, Ms…?”

“This is Fiona.” Rhys sounds amused, and Ms. _Fiona_ looks it as she takes Jack’s hand in a surprisingly firm grip. “I told you about her. She’s going to be running background investigations on you and Tassiter.”

Huh. Rhys _had_ mentioned a private investigator, but Jack had assumed - then the tail end of what Rhys said catches up with him, and he lets go of Fiona, turning on his campaign manager. “You’re investigating _my_ background? I thought we went over this.”

Rhys leans back in his - in _Jack’s_ chair and bites the end of the pen in his hand. “We did. Fiona’s going to be digging up dirt on Tassiter and seeing what’s publicly available about you.” He raises and eyebrow. “Why - is there something you want to tell me?”

Jack heaves a breath, and tells himself that the hesitation isn’t visible. “No - no, of course not, pumpkin. We’ve been over everything that’s relevant.” He can’t help stressing the last word, and he doesn’t know if he wants Rhys to hear it or not.

Rhys regards him thoughtfully, then nods at Fiona. “Okay, then. I’ll be in touch.” Fiona glances between them, and something unspoken seems to pass between her and Rhys because Rhys frowns at her, coloring slightly and shooing her away. Jack stares in fascination - he’s never seen Rhys _blush_ before, and it’s - well, it’s definitely a sight that Jack’s going to treasure. Maybe later tonight. In bed.

Jack shakes his head as if he can shake the thought away. He _can’t_ think like that about Rhys, he can’t. Jack’s certainly not above bending the rules when it suits him but he’s well aware that hitting on his campaign manager is a good way to lose him, and Jack doesn’t have time to break in a new one. At best, Rhys would turn him down politely; at worst, Rhys could sink his campaign, and Jack’s spent his _life_ working toward this race. He can’t risk losing it all over a pretty face, even one as pretty as Rhys’.

Rhys makes it hard, though, when he leans back and laces his arms behind his head, putting every inch of that lean torso on display. Jack’s fingers itch to tear those buttons open, to take Rhys by the stupid tie and haul him up and -

Jack stops that train of thought right there.

“Lunch not go well?” Jack blinks at him. Rhys nods towards the chair opposite him, where Fiona had been sitting, and Jack drops into it heavily. “You came storming in here with such a look - are they going with Tassiter?”

Jack blows out a breath. “It won’t be official until tomorrow, but yeah - Louis texted me after the vote. He said it was close but they’re giving the endorsement to that _jackass._ ” Rhys hums, leaning forward and putting his elbows on the desk. _My desk_ , Jack reminds himself, but now that it’s just the two of them Jack doesn’t mind so much that they’re technically on the wrong sides.

“We always knew it was a long shot,” Rhys says sympathetically. “But you had to try. We’ll pick up the teachers’ union next week, that’ll make you feel better.” Jack huffs a laugh, and Rhys smiles at him.

Jack does feel better, but he doesn’t think it’s because of the promise of an endorsement.

* * *

Life continues - the _campaign_ continues, at the least, and the campaign has become Jack’s life - and Jack congratulates himself on _not_ hitting on his campaign manager in front of everyone. At least, not overtly. At the very least, Rhys doesn’t seem to recognize it as flirting, which is frankly unusual in a man as sharp as he is in every other respect. Jack’s numbers are slowly turning around, and Jack knows that he has Rhys to thank for it, so he contents himself with admiring the drape of Rhys’ slacks on those mile-long legs and keeping his thoughts (mostly) to himself.

He confides in Nisha, by accident - she’s been his friend for too long, she knows him better than he knows himself, sometimes. He’s telling her about meeting Fiona - can she _believe_ Rhys hired a private investigator - and instead of commiserating like any decent friend would she raises her eyebrows and takes a pull on her beer.

“So what you’re telling me is that you ran her out of his office like a jealous boyfriend.” She laughs and puts the bottle down with a _clink_. “Man, I wish I could have seen that.”

“ _No_ , I - I did _not_ ,” Jack protests. “Also, it’s _my_ office.”

Nisha waves a hand. “I’ve been to headquarters since he moved in - it’s definitely his office now.” Jack grumbles but he has to admit that she might be right about that part. She’s not right about the _jealous boyfriend_ part, though.

At least, not about _boyfriend._

And so things continue in a comfortable equilibrium - Jack steadily inching up in the polls - until Rhys barges into Jack’s office one evening just as a fresh-faced intern is delivering Jack’s evening dose of caffeine.

“ _Out_ ,” Rhys snaps, and the intern nearly drops the coffee in Jack’s lap in her haste to make it out the door. Jack rescues it - barely - and is about to ask what the _hell_ Rhys thinks he’s doing when Rhys slaps a picture down in front of him.

“You didn’t tell me you had a _daughter?_ ”

Jack stares down at Angel’s face, stomach plummeting. “She lives with her mother, across the country. She’s not a part of this.”

“You don’t get to dictate that.” Jack growls at him, actually growls, and Rhys’ tone softens “I’m sorry, but - if Fiona could find her it’s only a matter of time before Tassiter’s people do.” His voice is softer now but no less implacable. “We need to get out in front of this.”

Jack looks down at the papers on his desk to avoid looking at the immovable set of Rhys’ face. It’s - this is _Angel,_ he can’t subject her to the dirty kind of campaigning Tassiter does, that’s not what he wants for her -

But Rhys says they have to, and Rhys is - Rhys is always right about this kind of thing.

The talking points for the next town hall meeting blur in front of his eyes, and he shoves his chair back and sweeps his arm across the desk, shoving papers and pens and stacks of mailings onto the floor. It makes a satisfying _crash_ but Jack doesn’t feel any better. Rhys hasn’t visibly reacted to Jack’s show of temper, so Jack pulls his chair back up and pulls a hand over his face, lets his breathing slow.

“All right,” he says quietly. “What do you suggest?”

* * *

“There’s my favorite candidate.” Rhys pulls up a chair next to where Jack’s sitting with his elbows on his knees, staring at his hands. “You did good today.”

“Did I.” Jack puts his hands together and presses them to his lips. “I’m not so sure.”

The press conference had theoretically been brief, but to Jack every second that his daughter had been in front of the cameras had felt like a lifetime. Angel had been a little shy at first, holding her mother’s hand, but when Jack had picked her up and put her on his hip she had smiled and laughed, putting her arms around his neck. He had finished the briefing that way, with Angel a warm solid weight against his side, asking that the press respect his daughter’s privacy.

They won’t; Jack knows this, but he had to say the words. It’s expected. He can’t help but feel like he’s exposed his daughter in a way he’s never wanted for her, but Angel had seemed to warm to the attention, grinning and waving at the cameras while the flashes popped.

“Jack.” Rhys’ tone is quiet, gentle in a way that Jack hasn’t heard from him before. “This is why you hired me. I’m here to help you win, so trust me when I say you need to get out in front of this. This is what I’m here for.”

Rhys is right; Jack knows this too. Rhys is -

Jack knows the intensity of campaigning inside and out, how it makes everything feel like life or death - and he knows what that does to people’s emotions too, has seen more than one professional relationship damaged by an unfortunate one-night stand. He also knows Rhys has caught his appreciative glances more than once, and he’s pretty sure Rhys has been looking back.

Until now that’s all it’s been, but all at once Jack feels reckless, the high he always gets from being in front of a crowd still tingling in his veins. This is a risk, and it might lose him a campaign manager (or get him sued), but Jack didn’t get to where he is today without taking risks, and after what he did this afternoon, what’s one more?

Jack turns so he’s looking right in Rhys’ eyes, inches away from that mismatched brown and blue. “Is that _all_ you’re here for?”

Rhys is quiet for a long moment, and then he opens his mouth and Jack thinks _here it comes_ , resigning himself to losing the best staffer he’s ever had.

“No,” Rhys says, low and sure, and Jack’s breath catches as the world rearranges itself. “No, that’s not _all_ I’m here for.”

“That can’t - that _can’t_ happen though, not until we win,” and now there’s a faint flush spreading over Rhys’ cheeks as Jack blinks at him. “You can’t afford the distraction, and the campaign doesn’t need that sort of press.”

“What if I told you you’re plenty distracting already, pumpkin” Jack breathes, sliding a hand over Rhys’ knee, thrilled deep in his chest when Rhys doesn’t immediately brush him off.

“Stop that,” Rhys says, but he puts his hand over Jack’s. “November. _After_ we win. Think of it as incentive.” For a second Rhys’ eyes drop down to Jack’s lips, and Jack is almost positive Rhys is going to lean in -

Then Rhys squeezes his hand and stands, breaking the moment. “Get some sleep. You’ve had a long day, and you’ve got another one tomorrow.” Jack watches him as he crosses the room to the door, but before he opens it Rhys looks back at where Jack is still sitting.

“November,” he says. “ _Incentive_ .” He _winks_ , that little shit, and then he’s gone, probably to go browbeat some hapless field coordinator over the phone. He’ll likely be on the phone when Jack leaves, and again when Jack gets back in the morning. Jack is not sure Rhys actually sleeps.

He might have a chance to find _out_ though. Rhys is right - again, annoyingly - the campaign doesn’t need that sort of scandal attached to it, even Jack can see that. Angel was bad enough.

 _November_. It’s both impossibly far away and terrifyingly close, but Jack has even more reason now to chase it down.

* * *

Jack scowls at the numbers in front of him as if that will change them.

He slams the latest poll numbers down on his desk. For once, Jack is actually behind it, where he belongs, and Rhys is sitting on the other side, but Jack can’t even appreciate this small victory because according to these numbers, he is _losing_.

“We still have time to turn this around,” Rhys says calmly, but it sounds strained. “We knew we were going to take a hit because of Angel -” Jack growls at him and Rhys raises his hands. “Sorry, but it’s true. It’s not a reflection on her, it’s just the way the public perception game goes. You were hiding her, so people are going to wonder what _else_ you’re hiding. We need something to counteract that.” Rhys pauses, but something in his face looks like he has more to say, so Jack leans back in chair and gestures.

“Out with it, cupcake. You got something up your sleeve?”

“Kind of. Fiona found something.” Rhys pushes a sheaf of papers over to Jack, who picks them up and pages through them, raising his eyebrows at the contents. “Hyperion made a number of extremely dubious land buys in other countries, and the way they’re arranging their assets? They haven’t announced it yet - probably keeping it quiet until after the election - but they’re getting ready to move manufacturing overseas. That’s _thousands_ of jobs.” Rhys clears his throat. “The thing is - check the dates. This started when you were still working there. So I have to ask you, and please don’t lie to me this time - did you know about this?”

“I’ve never lied to you.” Jack blinks as soon as it’s out of his mouth - it’s true, but he _certainly_ hadn’t intended to say it out loud. Rhys clearly doesn’t believe him, either, so Jack hastens to add, “I may have - I may have left things out, okay. But I’ve never lied to you.” He looks back down at the damning evidence in front of him, mostly to avoid looking at Rhys’ eyes. “And I didn’t know about this. I was a software development exec; we had nothing to do with manufacturing or acquisitions.”

Rhys is silent, and Jack has to look back up, can’t stand to _not_ see Rhys’ eyes in this moment. Rhys looks evaluative, like he’s judging the weight of Jack’s words, and Jack holds his breath. It shouldn’t _matter_ that Rhys believes him, but it does, suddenly. It matters very much.

“Okay.” Rhys smiles, and Jack feels like he can breathe again. “I’ll get it to the Times tonight, and tomorrow you’ll get out there in front of the press and you’ll condemn the moving of solid working-class jobs overseas and say that the people deserve better than Tassiter.”

Rhys gets up to leave, and Jack appears to have lost control of his mouth tonight, because before Rhys can get to the door Jack says, “You believe me, right? That I didn’t know.”

Rhys looks at him for a long moment, door half open, and Jack wonders if he can hear all of the things Jack _isn’t_ saying: _I need you to believe me_ and _I need you to believe_ in _me_ , and _I need you_. Jack thinks that maybe he can, because Rhys looks out into the empty office as if to confirm that it is in fact still empty, then shuts the door and comes back over to where Jack sits. He steps right up in between Jack’s legs and brushes Jack’s hair back from his forehead, the most intimacy he’s allowed since after Angel’s press conference. He puts a hand on each of Jack’s shoulder and leans in until their faces are inches apart.

“I do believe you, Jack.” Rhys’s eyes burn with sincerity and determination and Jack can’t look away. “I believe _in_ you; we aren’t going to sleep a whole lot for the next two weeks but we are going to _win_ this and then -” Rhys leans up and presses his lips to Jack’s forehead and it feels like a brand. “Then we’ll continue this conversation,” and Jack knows down to his bones that it’s not Hyperion Rhys is talking about.

“In the meantime.” Rhys grins and Jack feels his own mouth curling to match. “Get ready for a bloodbath.”

* * *

It’s not quite a bloodbath, but it’s close.

Tassiter’s been running on a platform of business acumen and job creation; when the media gets wind of what Times reporters verify is _definitely_ a move to shift manufacturing overseas, the story runs in every news cycle for the next four days. Tassiter’s campaign tries to do damage control, to spin it as “just good business,” but the poll gap between Jack and Tassiter starts closing again, until they’re within the margin of error and the race officially becomes too close to call.

The damage is done. The question is whether it will be enough.

The final days before the election are a whirlwind. There’s canvassing, phone calls, a massive get-out-the-vote effort - volunteers start pouring in, more than Jack frankly knows what to do with, but Rhys handles it all, setting down stacks of phone calls to make and doors to knock on in front of each one. Jack finds himself narrowing down to the thing in the front of him, and then the next thing, until he crosses the last name off a page of have-you-voted-yet phone calls and can’t find the next page. He turns it over, frowning, and then over again - maybe he missed a side? - and then a hand takes the paper away from him.

Jack looks up blearily and sees Rhys standing over him. “You’re done,” Rhys says. Jack starts to protest but Rhys overrides him. “I called Nisha; she’ll take you home. Take a shower. Take a nap, if you can. Come back for the watch party.”

As if on cue, Nisha steps into the doorway behind Rhys, and Jack scowls at this display of unity against him. Rhys looks ready to drag him up out of the chair, though, and Jack would rather spare himself that indignity, so he gets up and follows Nisha out of the building and only wobbles a bit while he does it.

He can’t sleep when he gets home, of course, although a long hot shower does revive him a bit. He’s staring at himself in the mirror when Nisha, because she had no sense of personal space, leans in the doorway.

“You think you’re going to win?” She never did pull her punches.

“Rhys thinks we will,” and Jack wonders when that happened, when “I” became “we.”

The watch party is crowded with more people than Jack remembers ever working on the campaign, although Rhys assures him that they all did, and then some. Jack looks over the sea of people in “Lawrence” shirts and wonders how Rhys kept track of them all _and_ found time to run Jack’s life as well. Rhys himself is finally showing the tension: his face is pulled tight, the bags under his eyes prominent, and Jack kicks himself a little for not seeing them earlier. Rhys is moving faster than ever, though, talking into his phone while he signs something and hands it off to a staffer. Jack wonders how much caffeine he’s had today.

Rhys looks up and sees Jack, and it looks like his smile is involuntary, automatic. He ends the call and moves through the crowd toward Jack.

“We’ve got observers at all the county auditors,” he says without preamble. “First returns should come back in about ten minutes.”

Jack doesn’t know what to say here. Rhys has moved heaven and earth to make this happen for him, and they’re only a few minutes away from finding out if it was all worth it. _Thanks_ doesn’t begin to cover it, but it’s all Jack has, so he puts his hand out and Rhys takes it, bemused.

“Thank you,” Jack says, and something in his tone wipes the amusement from Rhys’ face. “For everything.”

“It was my pleasure,” Rhys replies, and Jack can’t hear anything but sincerity in his tone. Then his phone rings and Rhys turns aside to answer it, and Jack turns back to face the tv screens that will announce his future.

Three more minutes. It feels like a lifetime.

He can’t actually hear the newscasters - it feels like his head is stuffed with cotton - and when they show the bar graph with his name on it Jack has trouble processing it at first. It’s only when the screams in the room start filtering back in through the hollow ringing in his ears that the numbers resolve in front of him.

 _84% of precincts reporting_  
_Tassiter, 47%  
_ _Lawrence, 53%_

Jack stares dumbly at the screen as people clap his shoulders and scream in his ear. A six point lead; that’s not recoverable, Tassiter might be able to narrow the gap but he won’t be able to close it, not with 84% of precincts reporting. Jack’s chest feels tight and he feels dizzy. He’s worked so hard for this moment, but it doesn’t quite seem real, won’t seem real until -

Jack turns and sees Rhys staring up at the tv as well, phone forgotten in his hand. He looks exultant, he looks _ecstatic_ , and as he turns to face Jack with mouth open and eyes shining Jack wonders vaguely if this is how Rhys looks when he comes. It’s a wildly inappropriate thought, but Jack doesn’t fucking care, mouth stretching into a manic grin as he takes the few short steps right up to Rhys, grabbing his face and crashing their lips together.

This is _also_ wildly inappropriate, but gauging by the redoubled cheers and whoops around them, no one in the room cares either.

Six points. Rhys took a six point deficit and turned it into a six point _lead_ , and if that’s not the definition of working miracles Jack doesn’t know what is.

Rhys is laughing as Jack lets him go - not too far, not out of reach - and reaches out to take Jack’s hand in his. “Congratulations,” he says, squeezing once before letting go. “But let’s save that for the afterparty, ‘kay?”

“Oh sweetheart, you can _count_ on it,” Jack breathes, before he turns his attention to the mob of congratulations and backslaps and handshakes. They got him here, it’s only right that he give them this - but he can feel Rhys’ eyes on him the whole time as he makes the rounds, and every time he looks over Rhys is smiling at him, small and private and _promising_.

* * *

It’s some godawful hour of the early morning by the time the celebration winds down enough for Jack to leave. Rhys had disappeared some hours ago, but Jack has a hunch that he knows where he went, and when he unlocks the door to a darkened campaign headquarters and sees the light under the office door, he knows that he was right.

“I’ve been wondering,” he says as he pushes the door open. “Is this my office or yours?”

Rhys drops his gaze from where he’s been contemplating the ceiling. He kicks back a little, turning in the chair to face Jack as he comes around the desk.

“It’s mine, of course. I just let you use it sometimes.”

Jack huffs and puts a hand on Rhys’ jaw, smiling as Rhys leans into it. “Figures.” He brushes his thumb over Rhys’ cheek. “Thank you,” he says again, quietly.

“It was my pleasure,” Rhys repeats, just as quiet, and then his eyes darken. “I trust that this will be too.”

Jack feels his body heat. “Count on it,” he says, and then he’s kissing Rhys again, pulling him up out of the chair and pressing him against the desk. Rhys is just as warm - and _demanding_ \- as Jack had imagined, wrapping his arms around Jack’s shoulders and pulling him close. He makes the most _delicious_ moan into Jack’s mouth when Jack catches Rhys’ lower lip in his teeth, and Jack makes a mental note for later.

“Been thinking about this for months,” Jack growls, low and intent. “Every time you made me sit on the other side of my own goddamn desk I wanted to bend you over it.”

Rhys rolls their hips together, and Jack’s fingers tighten on Rhys’ skin. “Why do you think I did it?” He shoots a sly glance from under his lashes and Jack bites his shoulder in retaliation, savoring the shiver that wracks Rhys’ body.

Rhys shifts against him, reaching over to his discarded jacket, and fishes out a condom and  small packet of lube. He presses them into Jack’s hand with a quick kiss to the corner of Jack’s mouth, and steps back, hands going to his belt buckle. His shoes are already off, so it only takes a quick push to shove his pants down and bare his skin to Jack’s eyes. He cocks an eyebrow, and Jack doesn’t need any more encouragement than that, stepping close and gathering Rhys up in his arms.

Rhys gasps prettily in his ear, draped over Jack as Jack starts to work him open. Every twist of Jack’s fingers makes Rhys’ hips shift, brushing his cock against Jack’s in a maddening tease. Pretty soon Rhys is rocking back onto Jack’s fingers, moans muffled in Jack’s neck and hands clinging to Jack’s shoulders. Rhys makes a little protesting sound when Jack pulls his fingers out, but when Jack shifts him to the edge of the desk and rolls the condom on Rhys pulls him in eagerly.

They both groan as Jack pushes in, and Jack has to grit his teeth not to come right then as his dick sinks into that tight, slicked-up heat. He pauses for a second to collect himself, but this seems to be too long for Rhys, who tries to rock his hips, to get Jack in deeper.

“Come on,” Rhys whines, and this may be the first time Jack has ever heard Rhys sound anything less than in total control. “ _Move_.”

“Pushy,” Jack says, and Rhys huffs out a laugh that turns into a groan as Jack draws back and pushes in deeper.

“Always,” Rhys says, and wraps his arms more securely around Jack’s shoulders as Jack sets up a steady rhythm.

Jack’s not going to last long - after the day he’s had, he’s amazed he’s awake for this at all - so he doesn’t waste any time getting his hand around Rhys’ dick, feeling it stiffen into full hardness as he strokes in time with his thrusts. Rhys makes a strangled sound when Jack squeezes gently, rubbing his thumb over the underside of the tip, and soon Rhys is filling the room with the most gorgeous little panting moans.

“Nnngh, I’m -” Rhys cuts himself off and tosses his head back, but Jack can feel the tremors wracking Rhys’ body and he knows what Rhys meant to say.

“That’s it, baby, come for me, I want to see it,” Jack murmurs in between thrusts. He’s not far off himself, but he wants to see Rhys’ face when he comes. Rhys gasps as Jack hits just the right spot inside him, and just like that he’s tipped over the edge, body clenching down. Jack watches it sweep over Rhys’ face, and yep, he was right: Rhys’ victory face and orgasm face are pretty damn similar. He doesn’t have long to savor it, though, because Rhys’ body is tightening down around his and Jack groans and buries his face in Rhys’ neck as his hips jerk and his own release catches up with him.

It’s almost better than winning. Almost.

Jack breathes into Rhys’ shoulder, resting his head as he lets his breathing slow and his heartrate return to normal. Rhys' hands are tracing idle patterns on his back, and Jack lifts his head up to press their lips together, slow and unhurried. Rhys sighs into his mouth when they pull apart.

“How’s it feel to bang a winner, sweetheart?” Jack can’t help the grin he hears in his voice.

“You are so fucking awful,” Rhys says, smiling. He pulls Jack back in for another kiss. “I like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at [ThirtySixSaveFiles](http://thirtysixsavefiles.tumblr.com) on Tumblr!


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